Blues in the Night
by Wldwmn
Summary: Old songs open mike night Jisbon goodness. Just a little something I wrote prior to "Blue Bird" but never posted until now. Not too much angst or plot. Rated K for mild adult references.


**Disclaimer: I am not now, nor was I ever, a member of the group that owns "The Mentalist".**

**Summary: Old songs + open mike night = Jisbon goodness. Just a little something I wrote prior to "Blue Bird" but never posted until now. Not too much angst or plot. Rated K+ for mild adult references.**

**Blues in the Night**

Amazed. That was really the only word for the emotion Jane was currently experiencing.

He'd been merely surprised when he'd discovered a decent coffee shop in Texas that would also make a proper cup of tea exactly to his specifications. The "surprised" was upgraded to "impressed" when he was told by the young waitress that on Friday nights there was an open microphone tradition with an unusually high standard. This Friday, she helpfully continued, was Blues themed.

But he wasn't amazed, actually properly amazed, until he returned that night and the performers began. And that was because the second person to appear onstage was far from a stranger to him. She hadn't even changed since they'd left work, though in all fairness neither had he.

He was sitting in shadow once the lights were dimmed, so he doubted that he was visible to Lisbon as she climbed up the two steps to stand in front of the mike. His eyes went nearly as wide as his smile when she said she'd be performing "Blues in the Night" for her song.

Two men provided the backup; one at a shabby upright piano, another on an obviously ancient harmonica. But Jane's attention, of course, was entirely centered on Lisbon as she began, fairly quietly at first:

"_My mama done told me,_

_When I was in pigtails,_

_My mama done told me, hon,_

_A man he will sweet talk,_

_And give you the big eye,_

_But when the sweet-talkin's done,_

_A man is a two-face,_

_A worrisome thing that'll leave you to sing the blues, in the night."_

The smile never left his face as Lisbon went through the entire song. She wasn't terrific, perhaps, but the rough edge to her voice seemed to suit the lyrics. Jane carefully tried to avoid any thoughts that she might be singing about him, much less to him. She probably didn't even know he was there, after all.

But it was more than a little odd that, once the song was finished and the smattering of applause died down, Lisbon walked straight over to his table and took a seat. "Evening, Jane," she said. After ordering a coffee for herself and leaning back in her chair, she asked "How did I do?"

He grinned. "Well, Lisbon, very well. More Doris Day than Rosemary Clooney, but overall I'd say it was a hit, definitely."

"Why thank you. I'm a little surprised to see you here, but I guess any place that does a decent cup of tea is bound to be discovered by you sooner or later," she replied.

"Probably," he agreed. The silence settled between them briefly. "So, still angry with me?" he asked.

She wouldn't meet his eyes at first. "Why would I be angry, Jane?" she asked, stirring her coffee and feigning innocence. "I'm not your boss anymore; your antics don't reflect on me in the same way they used to. Sure, you're still pretty cavalier when it comes to the rules, and the FBI can't appreciate it officially. But why should that bother me?"

He sighed. "Because I didn't tell you everything I knew, again. Because I let you look foolish, again. And because I came running back to you at the end, grinning like an idiot and completely sure you'd forgive all my sins, as always. You're angry with me because I drive you crazy."

"Yes, you do," Lisbon admitted.

"And yet, you put up with me and forgive me and continue working with me in spite of it all," Jane continued.

"Yes, I do," she agreed.

"Sometimes I wonder why," he said then, and left the question hanging in the air.

Lisbon didn't answer right away; she sipped thoughtfully at her coffee instead and barely looked at him. She could feel his eyes on her, waiting for her to answer, but she wasn't rushing her reply. Not for his sake. Certainly not to ease the curiosity of a man who drove her crazy while (obviously) being fully aware that he was doing so.

"I'm glad it's the weekend," she finally said, completely off-topic and out of nowhere. "I could use some time off. More than two days, really, but they'll do for a start."

Jane grinned. "I agree, Lisbon, but you still haven't answered my question. Why haven't you quit on me? I think anybody else would have by now."

"Oh I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Maybe I'm a fool? A sucker for hopeless causes? Just another mark?"

"You're not a sucker for being a friend to someone in need, Teresa Lisbon," Jane said, suddenly so serious that Lisbon frowned. "You're not a fool for being kind to a lost soul. And you're not a mark for living like you really can make the world a better place."

Lisbon felt a treacherous blush creeping to her cheeks. "You're embarrassing me," she murmured.

"It's true, though," he pressed. "Just because I take terrible advantage of your extraordinarily good nature doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. I depend on it, and I am grateful for it, and sometimes I marvel at it, to tell you the truth."

She laughed a little. "I suppose 'heaping praise on my head' is the closest thing I'm going to get to an apology."

"I try very hard not to outright lie to you about the important things, my dear, so I won't say I'm sorry when I'm not," Jane said. "I am who I am, and I do what I do, and I can make changes in degree but it's difficult to make them in kind."

She sighed deeply. "What do you want me to say here, Jane? That I forgive you? Of course I do. I always do, don't I? That I'm not still angry? I'm not, not really. Annoyed, yes, but not angry. There, are you happy? Will you drop it now and let me finish my coffee?"

"Yes, finish your coffee," he said, and the relief in his voice was so clear even she could hear it.

They kept talking long after that, mostly small and meaningless chatter. It was clear that neither wanted anything close to an argument again that evening, as the lights dimmed and their fellow patrons began to leave.

"Can I take you home?" Jane asked her around one a.m., as he noticed the look in her eye that told him she was about to say goodnight.

"I brought my own car, Jane. I'll be fine," she said, shaking her head as she stood and pulled on her jacket.

"No, I know that," he said, "I just thought –"

"Oh," she said. "OH," again, in sudden understanding, and her eyes went wide. He wasn't suggesting giving her a ride back to her own apartment. He meant: could he take her home with **him**. "Jane, I don't know if tonight is the right night for this. Maybe it should… wait."

"Haven't we waited long enough?" he asked softly. "Is it ever going to be the right night?" He grasped her hand as they made their way out to the parking lot. "Tell me why you always forgive me and defend me and stand by me. The real reason. Right now."

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. "Because I love you," she whispered.

"Then the only way tonight could be the **wrong** night is because it's not last night, or a night two years ago, or seven years ago," he said, in a voice tinged with regret. "It's the right night because we can't be together any sooner than right now, and I don't want to wait any longer than right now if you love me. Because I love you, too. I really do, and I think I always have."

She had to lean forward and kiss him then. How could she not?

###

Hours later, Lisbon woke in an unfamiliar bed to the sensation of fingertips sliding down her arm. She turned to look at Jane, his curls even more unruly than usual, and smiled gently at him. When he didn't immediately return it, she was concerned. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"No, not wrong," he said with a shake of his head. "Nothing wrong at all. I'm just worried a bit."

"About what?" she wondered, her concern only growing. After his grand declaration in the parking lot and hours of (rather frenzied) lovemaking, was he going to pull away from her yet again?

He took a deep breath. "I mean I'm just really a lot to take on as a lover, boyfriend, husband, whatever," he said, and continued in a rush when it seem she might interrupt in protest. "And it all seems very perfect and romantic in the light of the moon, Teresa, but I'm thinking you might not still love me in the morning."

"You idiot," she grumbled, and snuggled closer to him. "Of course I will."

"You will?"

She smiled at him then, and lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. "I'll love you for the rest of my life, Patrick. Even when you make me sing the blues."

**The End**

**A/N: Although this was conceived totally independent of Pellegrina's EXCELLENT story "The Hoppin' Frogs", it's in a similar vein so I must give hers a shout-out. It's great. I love it. You should definitely read it if you haven't yet.**


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